“Please, sit here beside me,” he said, indicating the couch. “Permit me to apologize for my stepmother’s behavior.”
Eugenia sat gingerly, prepared to jump back up at a moment’s notice. She held the glass in her hands, toying with it, her eyes jumping from it to his face and back again. “One cannot control another,” she whispered. “Thus, no need for an apology. Not to me.”
Leaning his head back, the Duke closed his eyes. “True. One cannot truly control another. But bad behavior should not be excused.”
Without moving his head, or opening his eyes, he held out his hand to her. Wanting to take it but fearing to, Eugenia hesitated, warring with herself. It was one thing to hold the hand of an unconscious man, quite another to take his hand when he was a Duke and she a maid. Her growing affection for him won the battle, and she placed her hand in his.
“Can you tell me what happened, Your Grace?” she asked, her tone soft.
“Somehow the carriage broke,” he said quietly. “In its tumble down the embankment, it crashed onto my coachman, killing him.”
“I am so sorry.” Eugenia squeezed his hand
“I am too. He was a good man. My footmen were thrown from it, but I was tossed around it inside it like a ball. I am quite surprised I am not injured worse.”
The door opened, forcing Eugenia to leap to her feet, letting the Duke’s hand go. Mr. Leary and the other footman entered, the physician’s expression stiff and unhappy. “I was told to return to your side, Your Grace,” he said, bowing.
“Not on my orders, Mr. Leary,” the Duke said. “How are my footmen?”
“They will survive, but they are unable to work for quite some time.”
“No matter. See to them, please. If they need anything, let me know. I will see to it they are paid through their convalescence.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
“The coachman was married, was he not?” the Duke asked.
“I am not certain,” Mr. Leary replied, bowing his head. “But I will inquire.”
“Thank you. I wish to inform her myself of what transpired and assure her that she will be cared for in my household.”
The physician bowed and retreated, leaving the drawing room the same way he came in. The footmen closed the doors and stood by them, facing front and motionless, their wigs and livery impeccable. Eugenia took the glass to the sideboard and poured another. The Duke smiled and accepted it, but only sipped it before setting it on the table beside him.
“I suppose Lady Helena requires your service,” he said, gazing at her with those deep-sea blue eyes Eugenia found so utterly fascinating.
“Not at the moment, Your Grace,” she replied. “Lady Helena knows that Mr. Leary asked me to attend you, as she cannot stand the sight of blood.”
“Ah, yes, blood.”
The Duke lifted his hand to the bandage, wincing. “Why is it, then, that you do not faint or swoon at the sight of blood, Miss Betham?”
Smiling, she shrugged, finding the question both odd and amusing. It was as though he had asked her why her hair was dark brown. “I do not know, Your Grace. It is simply the way I am.”
“The way you are,” he said, musing. He stood, obviously on shaky legs by the way he grasped the arm of the couch.
Eugenia moved toward him, her arms out, though she could hardly catch him if he fell. She was less than half his size, after all. But he smiled at her worry and walked a few paces, unaided.
“I feel the urgent need for a bath,” he said, walking slowly toward the doors the footmen held open. “Supper will be upon us soon, and I must dress. I wish to thank you for your kind attentiveness, Miss Betham.”
She curtseyed. “It is my honor to serve.”
For some reason, that comment made him hesitate, and glance over his shoulder. He smiled. “You are a treasure, Miss Betham. Again, if you wish, I will give orders for you to eat in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. That would be lovely.”
Eugenia watched him go, followed by the two footmen, then returned to Lady Helena's quarters to assist her in dressing for supper.
* * *
